The Statue in the Forest
by Diranda
Summary: Bill may be gone, but he's not forgotten... and that's just the way he likes it...


The statue in the forest

Ford had taken to checking the statue, deep in the forest, to make sure it stayed undisturbed.  
At first it had been every so often. Once or twice a month.

It was the first thing he did when they returned home from their travels.

And when he was home, it began to be every other week without fail.

Then every week.

Then every day.

Then twice a day.

It was always the same. Gray, still, _untouched._

No grass grew beneath it. No moss grew on it. No dust settled on its sharp angular surfaces.

Occasionally he noticed that someone had tried to damage or vandalize it. But it was never chipped or discolored in any way. Paint just didn't stick to it. It never broke. Never changed.

_Ever_.

Nobody said he was becoming obsessed.

Not to _him_ anyway.

He began to spend much more time out in the forest, near the statue.

He filled an entire journal with observations, results of tests, sketches, thoughts.

Nobody wanted to say Ford was losing his mind. That he cared more about the statue in the forest than he did about himself.

They just watched and hoped, and loved him and prayed he'd lose interest.

After all, it was _just_ a statue.

Right?

It wasn't the first night he'd spent in the forest.

It wasn't even the tenth night.

Ford awoke in the middle of the night and he wasn't entirely sure _why_.

That night was the new moon so there wasn't much light _outside_, let alone deep in the trees.

Yet there was. Somehow, there was a low, misty light in the small clearing he'd laid his sleeping bag in. It floated around him and the statue like a soft, glowing haze.

He sat up and slowly made his way towards the statue.  
It was an odd white glow, not yellow or blue as he would have expected.

Frowning, he reached out to run a finger along the edge of the triangle that was still visible above the ground.

A slight tingle went through his arm. He frowned.

Grabbing his journal, he quickly jotted down a few comments:

_It seems I was right in watching the statue. I think~_

A low rumble rolled through the forest. The leaves and needles on the trees shook with a soft rustling. The tremor that went through the ground was barely perceptible but it was significant enough for a forest in the middle of rural Oregon.

Ford got to his feet, looking warily around. He shone his flashlight into the dark trees, looking for any other strange signs or movement.

Nothing.

Black silence.

Another rumble shook the ground, much stronger this time. It was enough to make the man stumble and his full weight slammed into the statue. Reaching out to steady himself, his hand found the strange, thin arm and his fingers wrapped around the extended hand.  
"Aaah, _no_!"

Over the entire time he'd been watching the statue, he'd _never_ touched its hand. He was far too paranoid to even attempt it.

He yanked his arm back as he hit the ground, the hard, unmoving stone of the statue digging into his shoulder. He grunted, rubbing his shoulder. Sitting back, he glared at the half-buried triangle.

Silence filled the little clearing.

He looked at his hand. Aside from being scratched up and now bruised, Ford didn't feel any different.

_"Listen Sixer, that thing's just a weird-lookin' rock in the middle of the forest. Watchin' it isn't going to do anything. It's not gonna move."_

He frowned, getting to his feet and looking around for his journal.

_I touched the hand and nothing happened. Could it be I was wrong?_

Frowning, Ford reached out, once again, to touch the cold, stone hand.

Nothing.

_He's __**gone**__,_ Ford wrote, hand shaking slightly as the depth of the truth finally sunk in. _He's __**really**__ gone. _

He touched the statue again. Ran his hands over the sides, the angles. He traced every groove, every element. He _stared_ at it.

He stared at it.

Hard.

He shook his head.

"No," he told it. "You can't be gone. This... can't be the way it all ends."

The glowing mist in the depths of the forest simply floated, moving around the clearing as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Stunned, exhausted, Ford dropped to his knees in front of the statue.

With a deep breath, his shoulders slumped and he dropped his head into his hands.

He felt so tired. So mentally drained.

It had been what... a couple of years since that fateful summer and even more since he'd been a young, enthusiastic scientist, eager to explore the chaotic craziness of this little town. So long ago.

It was really _over_, then. All of it.

He just couldn't believe it. He... _missed_... it. All of it.

Even...

"Bill," Ford said in a low voice.

The 'game' they'd played for years had been so much a part of who he was, who he became. _All_ of it.

He felt almost as though he were mourning the death of a friend.

No, not just a friend.

A lover.

He had memories of Bill... _good_ memories... and it was those that he clung to on nights when thinking of home and Stanley only brought more pain. The demon had been a companion, a friend, an inspiration in those first days. He'd known exactly how to catch Ford's attention. He'd created a human form that enticed, drew him in, created a relationship that was passionate as well as inspirational. And everything was a game. Friendly, provocative, seductive, violent, angry, passionate. It was the best and longest chess game he'd ever played with _anyone_.

And he'd _won_.

Funny, it didn't feel like winning.

Ford looked up.

"I miss you."

He reached out to touch the frozen, outstretched hand...

_Sooner or later, Stanford Pines, you're going to make a mistake. And when you do... I'll be there._

He didn't remember anything after that. Unconscious, detached from his body, Ford was floating in the aether, confused, anxious and wary. He knew his body lay beside the statue, he could _see_ it there; still, unmoving but for the even breathing. Someone coming upon him in the clearing would think he were asleep.  
Or _dead_.

He didn't like that idea at all. What had happened to him?

_Mmmm... how fun... Oh Fordsy, you don't even remotely realize what it is you've done, do you?_

Laughter. Sharp, loud and only one being in the entire Multiverse could laugh like that...

"BILL!" Ford shouted, spinning in his place, trying to find his old adversary anywhere in the Mindscape. "Show yourself!" Sure, it was an old demand, and he knew Bill would find it amusing. Yet he hoped...

"Your body is mine, you know," Bill chortled across the soft, misty scape of Ford's dream-mind. "You touched my hand," He laughed. "You couldn't keep away from me, could you? You're so _cute_!"

Ford groaned softly. He didn't want to be called cute, especially by _Bill_ of all people.

"Oh sure, you keep fighting me, don't you? _Adorable_..."

Still, he didn't see the demon, which only made him more wary.. more concerned. "Bill? What have you got in mind?"

"Well," he said, "I've never _actually_ been a real scientist before... let alone _you_, Sixer! I may just have to take that old body of yours out for a _real spin_ as they say!" Bill Cipher snickered again. "I won't hurt anyone, Fordsy, and you're welcome to tag along if you want."

Ford realized at this point that, indeed, Bill was in charge of his body and he was hovering over it like a ghost. Panic suffused him for a quick moment before an idea flashed through his consciousness...

"Hey Bill... you know what? You should get a hold of a guy by the name of Sanchez... He's just your type of fella... party to the core."

There was a long pause-Bill was checking this information.

"Hmm. Yeah. _Sanchez_. Richard.. _Rick_, right?"

"Oh yeah, he's a _good_ friend of mine-"

"Sure... I'll hook up with him..."

Ford chuckled to himself. Once Rick figured out what was going on, he'd be back in his body within hours. Rick was an old... _old_ friend.


End file.
